


Perfect, Imperfect

by NewWonder



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkward Sex, First Time, M/M, Omega!Bilbo, also ill attempts at humour again, also porn, dubcon, innocent!Kili, is it pedophilia if Kili's 77?, more than necessary rly, only not really, pushy bottom Bilbo, reflections in the midst of porn yeah idk, schmoop yah, that's omegaverse for you, the answer is naw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewWonder/pseuds/NewWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fifty years Bilbo waited, and to think he had to find his mate like this, in the midst of the most reckless venture he ever regretted going on in his life. Obviously, it was all Gandalf's fault. (Omegaverse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect, Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell, the damn thing just grew and grew. All I can say in my justification is that I really, really wanted to write a kilbo omegaverse fic. And, uh, I swear I can write porn better than that. Ugh.

Bilbo had always _known_ it was a spectacularly bad idea.

He told Gandalf so, but nooo. The heat is nothing to worry about, the wizard said. You’ll get over it in no time, he said. You hobbits know all sorts of special herbs to get a carrier through his heat in no time, as easily and painlessly as possible, he said. Never mind what they say about ‘adventurous carriers’, this opportunity is too big to let it slip away because of a couple days of inconvenience. This is a chance, Gandalf said, a chance of a lifetime: to see what no hobbit had ever seen, to go where only wild things used to roam, to live an adventure just as grand as those Bilbo’s ancient books told of, and did you know, Bilbo, that your carrier great-grand-uncle Helbert Took was there fighting goblins alongside his husband, the famous Bandobras ‘Bullroarer’ Took, and that he was covered in goblin blood from head to toe when Bullroarer claimed the Goblin King’s head? (He had looked so fearsome, Gandalf said, that, when frightened, people exclaimed ‘Bloody Hel!’ ever since.) The world is much, much bigger than your hobbit hole, the wizard said, and you can’t even imagine how much more exciting it is to live a story rather than read it.

You wouldn’t lose this chance to your fears and doubts, he said. Would you?

And Bilbo didn’t. He ran off in a dash the morning after he so suddenly found his house infested with dwarves, and he ran out of breath by the time he caught up with the company, and he was too busy grinning dazedly and feeling as if he had jumped off a cliff and had yet to land, to realise that it was not only his handkerchief he had forgotten.

And when he remembered, a week later, during a conversation about Old Toby and its magical relaxing qualities, he stilled for a moment, but then just shrugged and went back to the arguing.

After all, it wasn’t like those herbs were particularly rare. Most of them could be gathered in your average wood, and the rest, in your average kitchen. So as long as there were woods and kitchens along the way, Bilbo was relatively safe, wasn’t he?

Bilbo looked to the left, and his eyes met a solid wall of stone. Bilbo looked to the right, and his eyes met a bottomless gaping abyss that made Bilbo’s breath catch in his chest. Bilbo looked straight ahead, and his eyes met a mop of unwashed dwarven hair that made it hard for the hobbit to see anything else at all.

Bilbo sighed faintly. _Of course_ Thorin had to leave Rivendell in such a hurry that Bilbo barely had the time to fetch his meagre possessions from the large yet surprisingly cosy bedroom with a supple featherbed and soft covers, let alone dash to the kitchens to beg the elves for a bit of hop and motherwort. And while dwarven hair had enough dirt in it to grow a whole garden, right now Bilbo most definitely couldn’t see any hawthorn blossom in it.

He was in trouble – in so much trouble. And out of all his misadventures thus far this might quite possibly be the worst.

Heat rose up in his body, slow and steady, spreading from his lower belly where it rested, for now, like a tightly wound spring, or a cat ready to pounce.

Bilbo surreptitiously adjusted his trousers and winced. The feeling of wet fabric against his behind was as unpleasant as ever.

He had no herbs, no Gandalf to rant at (which wouldn’t have solved anything but could have provided a minor distraction, at least), no breeder to relieve his impending misery…

(A strong grip, a sharp smell, rich and spicy and masculine, very much not unpleasant despite being mixed with the stench of troll snot: a young hale male, fierce enough to fight for him, strong enough to protect him, appealing enough to have him all hot and wet and ready, reckless smile and blazing eyes and hands unwilling to let him go, and – _oh_ …)

Bilbo came to with his face full of coarse smelly hair, belatedly realising that the party stopped moving on Thorin’s mark. He could see Fili and Kili climbing over what looked like a particularly dangerous gorge, and finally Kili waved his hand and shouted:

“Come, we’ve found the safe path!”

He looked remarkably fetching like that, a conqueror of the mountains with his hair blowing in the wind. Bilbo swooned a bit. Then he shook his head, catching himself, and frowned.

Well, now he _really_ was in trouble.

 

It wasn’t like the brothers even liked him or anything: Valar knew, they mocked him enough at the beginning of their journey. But after the troll incident they seemed to have warmed up to him and now were frequently keeping him company, a warm body on both Bilbo’s sides, Kili grinning excitedly on the left and Fili, ever calmly smug, on the right. Bilbo hoped they had taken a genuine liking to him, he did; but sometimes a dwarf from the company mentioned the troll accident and Kili would immediately start looking guilty, and there went Bilbo’s hope.

Well, even if the brothers simply decided they were in his debt and now had a duty of honour to protect him, Bilbo most certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Except for today. Kili plopped down on the hard rock and enthusiastically threw a hand around Bilbo’s shoulders – _the smell, sharp, hot, overpowering, intoxicating,_ and Bilbo’s legs opened slightly of their own accord, heat pooling between them, his fluids slowly soaking his last dry breeches. Suddenly giddy, Bilbo barely caught himself with a moan before he could climb onto Kili’s lap.

He rose on unsteady legs, half-heartedly shook Kili’s hand off – the youth looked at him, startled, – and stumbled out of the small cave they found to spend the night in. Cold wind whipped him on the face, clearing his mind a bit. The clouds were gathering in the sky, leaden and heavy; it was starting to look like rain.

Bilbo climbed over the rocks until he found a crevice he could hide in. The rocks hang over his head, mostly protecting him from the biting wind. His teeth were chattering when he curled up on the sharp stones, and he could taste the blood from his chapped lips on his tongue, but the fever receded, and only the needy, insistent heat between his legs remained.

“Hey, Bilbo!” a youthful worried face loomed over him, barely visible against the dark sky. “Are you alright? You hadn’t eaten anything. Did you catch a cold?” He stilled suddenly: “…And what’s that smell?”

“What smell?” Bilbo croaked. Oh Valar, it had started in earnest. He better stay away from the party for a couple days or so (assuming they wouldn’t abandon him in the mountains, the burdensome hobbit which only ever stalled their way that he was).

“Dunno… smells a bit like mum’s pie,” Kili muttered distractedly. He was drooling, the poor thing. Bilbo couldn’t see it, of course, but he could feel the fluid dripping on his face. And… mum’s pie, really? Just how old was he? Was Bilbo going to go down in history as a child molester?

Because if Kili didn’t back off _right now_ , Bilbo was definitely going to molest him within an inch of his life.

“Go away,” he rasped and saw Kili flinch minutely. “Leave!” he insisted, powerless to mute the moan rising from his chest.

“Are you angry at me or what?” Kili said, befuddled and slightly hurt. “I didn’t do anythi–mmph!”

Bilbo stuffed Kili’s blabbering mouth full of his tongue and mounted his thigh, grinding desperately against its firmness. He was so wet, he was _leaking_ , he needed the stupid dwarf to stop talking and shove his stupid cock inside him _now_ …

“Hey– _hey!_ Wha–”

“Shut up and take me now,” Bilbo hissed furiously and arched into him, clutching at his shirt, breathed in the scent of his hair, as unwashed as the next dwarf’s in their company and yet still somehow irresistible; nuzzled into his neck, bit down gently ( _for now,_ but or so help him, if Kili didn’t stop staring dumbly like, like the dumb thing that he was and started doing something – anything – right about _now_ …), and _purred_.

Oh yes, little prudent Bilbo had always been quite _animalistic_ when in rut. That was Tookish blood for you.

Kili shuddered – a full-body tremble – and inhaled sharply. Bilbo must have smelt maddeningly right now, because Kili’s eyes glazed over and his hands started shaking slightly. He leaned into Bilbo and clumsily kissed him, awkward and uncertain like a month-old puppy, and Bilbo weaved his fingers into Kili’s hair and opened his mouth, gently sliding his tongue against Kili’s.

Kili’s hands came to rest on his waist, then started a hesitant exploration of his body: arms, shoulders, chest, buttocks – Bilbo cheered mentally, but then Kili took Bilbo’s face in his palms and asked breathlessly:

“What’s going on, Bilbo? I feel weird, and you’re all – strange, too.”

And Valar, he sounded so _young_. Bilbo reluctantly untwined himself from him and stepped back.

“I’m in heat,” he said through clenched teeth. “Surely you don’t need to be explained what a heat is.”

“What, like a cat in Rethe? I mean, you do look just as mad–”

Bilbo was _burning inside_ , fire running through his veins, flames engulfing his mind, scorching out the last of his reason, and–

“Go,” he waved his hand jerkily. “I told you to leave. You should have listened. Now go.” He huddled up between the stones and hugged himself tightly.

Kili was staring at him, visibly befuddled, licking his lips absent-mindedly. A frustrated groan escaped Bilbo at the sight. Kili really wasn’t helping the cause here. Bilbo buried his face in his knees and started rocking to and fro. Even the sharp wind wasn’t of any help to him now.

There was a soft touch to his cheek, tentative but gentle, and Bilbo squinted at Kili who was now down on his knees, face to face with him.

“You’re so pretty,” Kili said. “I thought you were pretty before – not like a lass, you know, just – I liked to look at you. I mean – you’ve probably noticed. Fili – he says me and subtle don’t go together.” He stared at his knees so fixedly there might as well have been a map to the secret door to the halls of Erebor drawn on his breeches.

“And – you look so pretty now it’s almost scary,” he finally raised his head and stared at Bilbo’s face just as intently. “I’ve never seen the Arkenstone, I was born long after it was lost – but I think you might look like it. I’ve seen no-one like you in my whole life, and I want – I want so much it hurts – to keep you, to hide you away – I want you to be near, always, always – are you secretly a lass? I thought you could only feel that way about a lass.”

Bilbo couldn’t help it; he snorted. Poor Kili looked so confused, it was actually somewhat endearing.

“I guess you dwarves could say so,” he pondered. “I don’t think your people have breeders and carriers among them, or do they?”

“What?” Kili said, ever eloquent.

“Nothing,” Bilbo cut him short impatiently. “I’ll explain later. Get naked now – or get the Hel away from me.”

Kili nodded frantically and started undressing. His hands trembled, and Bilbo crawled over to him with a great sigh and got his hands busy with Kili’s clothing. Kili’s fumbling palms got in the way rather than helped, and Bilbo irritably swatted them away.

He licked his lips when he finally got Kili (somewhat) out of his numerous apparels, taking in the sturdy constitution, the muscles dancing gracefully underneath the smooth skin darker than his own. Suddenly Bilbo wanted to taste it – so he leaned in and pressed his lips to Kili’s chest, felt him draw in a surprised breath. He tongued at it, first a tiny little taste of skin, a salty, spicy, mind-blowing tang; Kili shuddered and gasped. Bilbo licked a long slow line from Kili’s belly button up to his collarbones, pressed his nose into the jugular notch where the smell was the sweetest, and nipped at his neck, his earlobes, his shoulder, gently, sweetly, opening his neck for a bite.

Bilbo frowned when he felt nothing, no sharp teeth on his vulnerable neck, no declaration of ownership. Right, dwarves. Stupid dwarves did not have breeders, so Bilbo really couldn’t expect Kili to act like one.

“Bite my neck,” he murmured throatily, and Kili blinked, dazed.

“Why?”

“Just do it. _Please_ … You have to draw blood,” it was too much, the burning was too much, Bilbo couldn’t stand it, not any longer, he needed a body against him, inside him, _now_ , and – oh, that was Kili’s tongue, careful and unsure and _hot_ , that single lick felt like a brand, sizzling, scorching, flesh-meltingly, all the way down to the bones… and then came the teeth.

Bilbo never let anyone bite him before, not even in heat. He wouldn’t for the life of him be able to answer why he let Kili do it, why he _begged_ Kili to do it, to become the only one to own him – but the smell and the closeness, they had felt so _right_ , like never before in Bilbo’s life, and no-one ever before made him lose his mind so utterly and completely, and all Bilbo knew was that he _wanted_ , to give in, to be taken and claimed, forever and until the very end.

It seemed non-breeders went just as crazy after tasting the blood of a carrier in heat as the breeders in the Shire.

Kili’s kisses were clumsy but eager, and he showered Bilbo with them as if he were a sweet summer rain, fresh and warm and sun-soaked. Neck, jaw line, forehead, nose (seriously?), chin, lips – _finally_ , ear – _oh!_ It was almost as if Kili knew how sensitive it was, how maddening it could be when someone tongued the tip and bit down in just the right way. Soft lips and sharp teeth and hot breath and wet suction and Bilbo was almost ready to lose himself, but suddenly Kili stopped, the bastard, and Bilbo moaned indignantly, pushed his hips upwards to meet Kili’s, feeling the insistent hardness – _oh, but he was missing out_ , had to remedy that _now_ …

He scrambled to get Kili’s cock out of those blasted dwarven garbs, desperate to feel it in his hand, in his mouth, inside him, and Kili watched him, wide-eyed, pupils blown so wide there barely was any of the usual warm brown to be seen – only the deep hungry abyss, ravenous and blackest of black.

Bilbo stared at the appendage, feeling a lot of things; slight disappointment being not the least among them. Bilbo had had many breeders in his fifty years – skilful and callow, tender and forceful, reasonably well-endowed and frighteningly huge… and he was somewhat let down to realise Kili barely made it into the ‘satisfactorily moderate’ category. Well, at least by hobbitish standards. Who knows, maybe the size of Bilbo’s arm was a perfectly acceptable length among dwarves.

But it was hard, oh yes, hard as rock, nearly purple and leaking with clear glistening liquid. And Bilbo was ready to bet it would feel so wonderful inside his body, would fill this horrible churning emptiness so perfectly… but first, he had to taste. It was his treat, he’d waited for so long – for fifty years he waited, ever since he was born, waited and longed and looked for his mate. He found none in the Shire, and then he set to wait, because no soul came lonely into this world. Them carriers were lucky to have their sharp senses – it was so much easier for them to find their true one, to sense him among the crowd, and yet Bilbo had to find his one like this, in the midst of the most reckless venture Bilbo ever regretted going on in his life… in the midst of the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. So maybe, Bilbo thought, it was fitting.

And the breeders had the knot, a bodily representation of the inescapable destiny that tied the two together; the power to make one feel the most exquisite delight, bliss infused with just enough hurt to make the pleasure the most powerful sensation one could possibly ever feel. Locked into one, thrumming with pleasure so intense it might as well had been pain, mindless and lost in each other… Bilbo liked the sensation, loved it, more than he did any of the breeders he had laid with. But Kili didn’t have a knot.

And yet, Bilbo wanted him more that his first breeder, his best friend Rory Brandybuck, who painted all of his beloved forget-me-nots yellow out of sheer rancour when Bilbo refused his request for a bond; more than his fifth one, a jolly fellow of Tookish blood and astonishingly fine build; even more than the last one, who had brown eyes so soft Bilbo couldn’t help but lose himself in them. Kili was of another race and, it seemed, younger than him by a lifetime. It was hard to tell with dwarves: they all seemed like stones, never less hardy despite the years gone by, with only the cracks of wrinkles adorning their faces as the time passed by. Balin gave the impression of a boulder polished smooth by the river of time, and Thorin was the hard jagged rock of the highest mountains, where nothing living and breathing could survive and only the stars chimed their frosty melody, forever caught in the shadowy claws of the peaks. And Kili – Kili looked like goldstone, warm and sparkling with light, ever ready to smile and laugh, and as beautiful as one of stonefolk could possibly be; and Bilbo must have been truly far gone to think up stupid metaphors like this one.

Kili felt like home already, somehow, inexplicably, and Bilbo barely got to touch him, let alone taste. So he leaned down – and swallowed him whole.

Kili gave a sharp cry, and his whole body seized. He clutched at Bilbo’s hair as if he was drowning and it was his sole lifeline.

Bilbo didn’t mind; he wanted to feel Kili’s hands on him, a tangible reminder that he belonged with someone now. He mouthed at the head, tasting the droplets of pre-come, and licked a long indulgent line along the shaft, tracing the vein, humming all the way in satisfaction; laved the fraenulum leisurely, relishing in the sensation, savouring the taste and the feel as if it were the most rare and delicious meal, taking in the gasps from above; cupped his balls and teased at the slit with soft flickers of his tongue. Bilbo felt Kili’s cock pulse and balls tighten and moans rise, incoherent, his whole body going taut like his bow string, and gripped his cock at the base to stop him from coming.

It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

Bilbo started undressing, as briskly and efficiently as the haze clouding his mind would let him. For a short moment Kili, out of breath and looking delirious, seemed almost enchanted at the sight before he had the worst idea ever and started trying to be helpful.

Needless to say, he didn’t succeed. At all.

In approximately twice as much time as it would take Bilbo to undress on his own, Kili tugged down his breeches and frowned, probing at the wetness the cloth all but dripped with. Then he tentatively sniffed at his fingers; then, nearly stuck them into his mouth. Bilbo couldn’t help a small laugh at his confusion.

“Are you hobbit-whatsits supposed to have stuff oozing out of your arse?” Kili asked, befuddled.

“That would be the good part,” Bilbo snickered. He suddenly felt mischievous. “D’you like the smell? I’ve been told it’s better than fine wine, wouldn’t want to think people lied to get into my good graces.”

He didn’t expect Kili’s face to twist and contort in rage. In the blink of an eye Kili was straddling him, holding him down with one hand, the other tightly woven into his hair.

“Mine,” he snarled. _“Mine!”_ He bit at Bilbo’s neck, and it wasn’t playful; it was jealous and possessive and demanding, and a thousand times more intense than it ever got for Bilbo with a breeder, and for the first time that evening, Bilbo truly felt overpowered.

Kili panted, eyes wild and teeth clenched.

“You’re mine,” he insisted, desperately. “From this day on, you’re with me, you hear that? Do not talk of anybody else with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo breathed and raised his palm to cup Kili’s cheek, but Kili recoiled, still looking livid, and, for the first time that evening, Bilbo felt fear. Kili regarded him, dark face and black, black eyes, before he crushed his lips against Bilbo’s in a bruising, aching kiss. His hands roamed hungrily, and his knee settled roughly between Bilbo’s legs as they fell open eagerly. Bilbo wrapped his legs around Kili’s waist, feeling the hot hardness against his bare skin, and begged:

“Please, Kili… _Please…_ ”

And Kili seized him under his hips and entered him in one swift motion.

The cry Bilbo gave must have reached even the fair folk in the Last Homely House. He had felt bigger things in him and liked it well enough to push back and plead for more, but no heat he’d spent with breeders and middle men could ever compare to this frenzied coupling, with hard stones digging into his back and buttocks, Kili’s hold almost painful and his thrusts almost brutal and his groans almost feral.

Kili didn’t last long; Bilbo never hoped he would, what with this quite possibly being his first time with anyone at all, ever. And Kili did not have a knot.

And Bilbo did not care a fig, as it turned out. He came faster than Kili himself.

He thought he had seen someone somewhere around the middle of their activities, a vague image of Fili’s and Bofur’s and Dwalin’s horrified faces. But then it started getting really, really good, as Kili brushed hard against that spot that had Bilbo _howling_ , and Bilbo wasn’t sorry to say he really was not paying much attention to anything else.

 

Kili didn’t care to pull out after it was over, and Bilbo happily let him stay that way. Kili _did_ look awfully cosy with his cock still inside Bilbo and his hands wrapped around Bilbo’s middle as if Bilbo were a giant teddy bear (well, maybe not exactly giant; Bilbo had a feeling Kili would rather say ‘middle-sized’, and that was if he were being magnanimous). Kili felt around with one hand and dragged his cloak over them, and Bilbo momentarily felt sorry for both their rear ends. The cold wind must have been biting at Kili’s bottom almost as viciously as the razor-sharp shingles did at Bilbo’s poor cheeks, but somehow Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to be grumpy about it. His mouth stretched in a smile – his lips ached, too, from Kili’s cock, and a good ache it was – Bilbo wouldn’t mind feeling it every day. Kili nuzzled against him contentedly, like a big scruffy kitten, stubble scraping skin, and Bilbo inadvertently smiled even wider. He wanted to smile a whole awful lot right now.

And also to maybe go another round. From what he could gather, Kili seemed to be at least partially up for it, too.

“So you said you were a lass, but I think you lied,” Kili suddenly stated. Bilbo choked. Fare thee well, afterglow.

“I never said I was a lass,” he groused. “I said you daft dwarves might as well think so. See, I’m not exactly male.”

“Dunno, you look manly enough to me,” Kili said, blatantly staring at his cock, pink, flushed and slightly leaking already. Bilbo sighed and wiggled around, feeling Kili grow inside him.

“In the Shire, it is known that male Hobbits can come in three ways. The first one are carriers; see, that’s me. We are called so because we go into heat every once in a while, and if we are with a breeder, we can get with child.”

Bilbo had never seen someone’s eyes get that round.

“So you… can get heavy with young?” Kili slowly repeated. Bilbo, personally, didn’t see how what he said could be in any way weird, but he supposed people of other races might need to sit on the news.

“Yes, we carriers are fewer and fewer nowadays. I had a mother myself, not a bearing father, and only four carriers gave birth in Hobbiton in the last couple of years. These days, it’s all women. Can’t say I mind, bearing and raising a child must be a very tiring business. And it’s easier for them, too.” Bilbo huffed. Thank Valar, he was safe from that with Kili. Surely a dwarf, a non-breeder couldn’t get him with a child? Oh, wasn’t life wonderful, Bilbo thought gleefully.

Speaking of breeders…

“The second kind is breeders.” Kili growled faintly, and Bilbo hurriedly carried on: “They are bigger than your average hobbit, and, uh, snarlier too. More of a fighter, a breeder is.” Kili sniggered, probably at the idea of snarly hobbits. “Though nowadays, there are lesser and lesser of them, too. Some carriers I know found their Ones among middle men – like you dwarves, that is, – because there was no breeder for them. But it used to be different in old days.”

“So… do you have a breeder in the Shire?” Kili asked, clearly trying for nonchalance. Bilbo chuckled, starting to move his hips in slow undulating motions.

“No, I don’t. I am one of those carriers, you see. My One is not a breeder; not even a hobbit.”

A slow, disbelieving smile lit up Kili’s face, and he moved to draw him closer.

“Ah ah ah, no sir. My turn; you just lie back and watch.”

Bilbo rode him slowly and surely, circling and swaying his hips, dragging shattered moans out of Kili’s lips, taking his time to appreciate the way Kili’s expressive face looked when contorted in bliss, the feel of Kili’s cock inside him, somehow fitting him perfectly. Kili watched the movements of his hips, enraptured.

“It looks like a dance,” he said suddenly. Bilbo sent him a puzzled stare, never stopping the steady rise and fall of his thighs. “I mean – it’s not like the usual rutting,” he added. “I’ve hardly seen anything that graceful in my whole life.”

They had just left Rivendell, Bilbo wanted to remind him. Any elven maiden probably had more grace in a single move of her hand than a not-so-young hobbit mating with his One.

But then, he looked at Kili’s face and saw the most handsome man that had ever walked, talked, or did stupid things like losing his ponies.

Had to be this ‘One’ business, Bilbo decided – and found out he really didn’t mind, especially when he had his One writhing underneath him like that.

 

The company seemed oddly subdued when they came back the next morning. Dwalin opened his mouth every now and then, as if intending to say something, and visibly deflated every time, closing his mouth with a resounding snap. The expression of polite horror never seemed to leave Fili’s face, though he was as genial towards Bilbo as usual, and Bofur did look oddly blank, in contrast with his usual cheerfulness.

And Thorin – Bilbo had seen their leader in good times and in bad, in sorrow and, sometimes, in joy, however incongruous it seemed with Thorin Oakenshield’s usual broody air; but he had never thought he’d see Thorin with his eyes bugging out like that. (Well, Bilbo supposed he did look rather shagged out that morning… but it still most decidedly wasn’t a reason to stare at him like that.)

The worst part came from the most unexpected person.

“Way to go, laddie!” Oin exclaimed and clapped Kili soundly on the back. “I could hear him scream even without my hearing aid. Now there’s a stud!” He then proceeded to guffaw quite cheerfully.

Bilbo’s face felt so hot he expected to spontaneously combust every next moment. Kili just looked ridiculously pleased, the bastard.

“What are you waiting for, lazing about? Time to go!” Thorin ordered firmly, and Bilbo obediently searched around for his bag.

Mountains lay ahead of them, with more mountains left behind, and Bilbo felt the happiness that refused to leave him since yesterday night drop a bit. But then a hand brushed against his palm, oddly unsure, and Bilbo couldn’t help the smile that threatened to bloom on his face.

And he reached for the hand, and squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking of maybe possibly continuing this... if anybody actually wanted to read more of this crap... idke.  
> Rethe is a Hobbitish name for March.  
> I tried to make up an Alpha/Omega!AU that would suit the Middle Earth. Not sure if succeeded. :| Alphas are breeders and Omegas are carriers b/c I don't think they know the Greek alphabet in the Shire. Also, they are basically dying out because plain men (i.e., middle men. Stupid name, I know. Alas, my imagination gave out) and women are more adaptable and more fitted for survival, what with no heat madness to deal with. Also women's reproductive organs and the whole organism are better designed for childbirth - way comfier to push a baby through, etc.  
> ...I'll shut up now.
> 
> A sidenote: I need to listen to a song when I write stuff (or do anything at all, really), just can't get shit done otherwise. It's like booze or drugs for me, I get high on music. As for this ficcy here, I ran on Lindsey Stirling's _Crystallize_ , a glorious piece of divine beauty Tumblr incidentally gifted my playlist with. It's got dubstep and violin – can shit get any more awesome? I think not.


End file.
